Classic Poem

Her hair was a cluster
Of glooms and of gleams,
And her eyes had the luster
That stars have in dreams.

The busiest rover
That buzzes and sips
Never found honeyed clover
Like Fanny's red lips.

Her cheeks were ripe peaches,
Her voice was a bird's,
Making sweet little speeches
Without any words.

So near the dear lisper
To heaven was kept
That the angels could whisper
To her as she slept.

Too near! for her smiling,
In dreams as she lay,
Showed they were beguiling
Her spirit away.

‘Come, heavenly sister!’
One mild angel saith;
But a bolder one kissed her—
Bold Angel of Death!